The Fantastic History of Roxanne Ritchi
by TigerQueen
Summary: Set pre-movie, when Roxanne was a 22-year-old rookie.  Pygmalion never expected to fall in love with his creation.  Megamind never expected anything less. EDIT: Added Ch. 15-Roxanne deserves the last word.  Thanks for reading!
1. Chapter 1

She graduated at the top of her class. She landed at the bottom of KMCP 8's totem pole, a fact underscored by her first assignment (reviewing lip balm), italicized by her airtime (a few seconds squeezed between dolphins and those funny deodorant commercials), and punctuated by her hair. Two minutes before the cameras rolled, someone ripped out her sensible bun and fluffed her hair into a large, bun-crimped cloud. "Buns don't film," she was told when she complained. "They make you look closed off and unapproachable. And men like long hair."

So the next day, she woke half an hour earlier (but who cares about the difference between 4:30 and 4, right?) to comb, blow, and spray her locks into glamorous submission. They sent her outside for a piece on windburn. "You look cute," her cameraman bellowed as her hair blew across her face and stuck to her lipstick.

"You looked adorable, Roxie," her boyfriend told her over dinner.

"I looked ridiculous. I _was_ ridiculous. I want real stories, not this drivel."

He shushed her, coddled her, and played with her ridiculous hair. She stared outside, where a gang-tagged sign caught her eye.

The third day, she handed her editor a ten page memo.

"What's this?" he said, frowning at her.

"I'd like to do a piece on gang warfare in Metro City," she replied. "About how, despite the existence of Metro Man, teenagers and young adults living near Barracks Station are—"

"Not this," he interrupted, tossing the papers on his desk. "_This_," he spat, tugging on her ponytail. "What are you, fourteen?"

"What am I supposed to do with it?" she snapped. "I can't leave it down if you're going to send me into another tornado!"

"_You_ don't have to worry about tornados, Ritchi. Or gang wars, or drugs, or Metro Man. Think skincare, fashion, and maybe dating tips. Maybe, _if_ you can stop being so damned severe!"

She tried very, very hard not to think about beating his balding head with one of his dusty awards. Her eyes must have given her away, though, because he suddenly moved between her and the shelf of potential murder weapons.

"You're due to film a segment on vintage cocktail dresses in ten minutes. Go fix your attitude, Ritchi."

"Fine." She stalked out of his office as quickly as her stilettos would allow.


	2. Chapter 2

"There's no accounting for taste," he muttered as Minion sprayed the latest squawking bimbo into unconsciousness. Metro Man certainly seemed to favor them shrill, vapid, and big-haired. This one, oddly enough, was a librarian. The last had been a reporter. Ah, Metrocity. It was enough to make one weep.

Metro Man could probably have any woman in town. Some of them started ripping their clothes off if he _looked_ at them too long, for the love of nitroglycerin. So why did he have to pick the most annoying biddies imaginable, the ones who shrieked, blubbered, and swore inelegantly? Megamind wondered briefly if it were all a plot to break him of the kidnapping habit. But Metro Man didn't plot. It would break character.

"She's bound and gagged, Sir," Minion reported. "Operation: Bird Cage is running on schedule."

"Good, good." Back to villainy. He'd have plenty of time to ponder this in jail.


	3. Chapter 3

"What did you _do_?" her boyfriend babbled, eyes wide, arms akimbo.

"Don't you like it?" She ran her fingers through the darling pixie cut. "_I_ love it. It's professional; it's fun; it's perfect!"

"But _why_?" he moaned. "It was so pretty, and now it's gone! They'll think you're a lesbian!"

She'd expected some push-back, but that last bit threw her. Plenty of heterosexual women had short hair, and it didn't matter to her if people thought she were gay. But those arguments seemed somewhat contradictory, and she couldn't decide which one to use. So she stood there for a minute, mouth open, hands on hips.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, baby. You're still my foxy Roxie. And it's…okay, I guess, but you really didn't need to do that. It just makes you look, I dunno, cold. Was it your editor's idea? Because I really think you're worrying too much about this silly job."

That did it. She slammed the door in his face and locked it. Barely aware of the fact that this was a major decision (_cold?_), and that they'd been dating for over a year, and that he'd certainly said worse things to her (_severe? Had he said that?_), and that she should at least try to consider this reasonably, rationally, and calmly (_SILLY JOB?_)…she scoured her apartment for his belongings. T-shirts, sneakers, CDs, boxers, pictures, a coffee mug, a book on the Three Stooges, and three pairs of Ray-Ban knockoffs went into a garbage bag. She opened the door and dropped the bag at his feet. He was livid, she noticed, but she discovered she didn't particularly care. She couldn't remember why they were dating. He already looked a bit like a stranger, or like a random acquaintance from long ago. She wasn't sorry, but she had the feeling she'd be sorry later, so she lied.

"I'm sorry." That sounded a bit forced. "Really, I am sorry." Better. "I just don't think this is working for me anymore."

"Roxie," he said, and his voice broke. He wasn't angry, just confused and upset. Her indignation and rage abandoned her, leaving only the dully painful certainty that this was the right decision. He was afraid of being alone, and she was, too. But she was already the only one fighting for her career, and who really needed a warm bed? So she hugged him, kissed him, and closed the door a second time.

She went to the bathroom and saw his toothbrush by the sink. And then she cried. She cried for a very long time, and without any particular reason.


	4. Chapter 4

He normally had his best ideas in jail. Television bored him, and he was allowed few books, so he was able to focus on machines and machinations. But this particular holiday was marred by reports that his "darling protégé, Brainchild," was thieving from electronics stores. To date, Brainchild had been quite successful. He was also an imposter, a scoundrel, a two-bit hack who hoped to stand on the shoulders of Metrocity's intellectual giant by claiming some form of kinship. Protégé, indeed. He'd _protect_ the hustler into a pit of alligators if he ever got the chance.

Minion, fantastic fish that he was, had the brain and skill to dispose of this fraud, but he lacked the creativity to come up with a plan on his own (though his capes were quite fanciful). And as their next jail-break centered on the Policemen's Ball scheduled three achingly long weeks away, Megamind had little hope of silencing the (in all likelihood) pimple-faced brat before the police caught him. It would permanently tarnish Megamind's gloriously evil record. Stealing computers, _bah!_ How banal.

He watched the local news obsessively for any new reports. He ground his teeth through the tripe they called "personal interest," moodily sat through political and international coverage, waiting, waiting… _Best_ of all, KMCP 8's lead reporter was a very familiar pouty blonde whose flat eyes lit up every time she reminded viewers that her own former kidnapper was securely locked away. He hoped it had _burned_ her when Metro Man left her for the over-coiffed librarian. Heinous cows, every one of them.

And then one day, in the middle of a movie review, the blonde stopped and held her hand to her ear. "Excuse me, something's just come in. Oh, my. We're cutting to a live feed…broadcast online…from a woman claiming to have _caught_ Megamind's Brainchild."

"He's not _mine_, you loose-legged tart," he hissed at the screen.

"Please excuse the quality of the video, as it seems to be streaming live from her cell phone. Her name is Roxette…I'm sorry, _Roxanne_ Ritchi. That's…wait, don't we have…My goodness. It's KMCP 8's own Roxanne Ritchi. Wow. Yes, cutting to live feed—"


	5. Chapter 5

The Brainchild story had smelled wrong from the start. Megamind had robots and, according to many kidnappées, a gorilla-bodied henchman, but he'd never announced a protégé. And Megamind announced _everything_. So when a computer thief started passing himself off as the Second Coming of Evil when The First was conveniently behind bars, Roxanne started sleuthing. It helped that she didn't have anything else to do with her evenings.

It still took a lot of evenings.

After nearly a week of growling at her computer and covering every inch of her apartment with scraps of paper, she cracked his code. She thought. She was _fairly_ certain. But she wasn't certain enough to go to her bastard of a boss, even though she'd been on best behavior for a while, chirping through segments on cough syrup and exfoliating creams. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?" she giggled nervously as she hid in an alley. "And curiosity killed the cat. Oh, dear."

He arrived on schedule. Funny how, in that one way, he _did_ resemble Megamind. She let him disable the store's security system, then snuck in behind him. Cloth slippers won't keep your feet very warm, but they're so wonderfully quiet. Tasers, however, aren't. His screams were loud, and somewhat annoying. So she hit him over the head with the police baton she'd borrowed from the station's curio cabinet.

She hauled him into a chair, bound his feet and hands securely, and tossed a white sheet over the background. Then she perched her frightfully advanced cell phone on a shelf (must remember to stay in the shot), removed her overcoat, straightened her suit, and smoothed her hair. He regained consciousness slowly. She reviewed her notes, waiting for the stupor to wear off.

"Who…what…you BITCH!" he roared, then moaned.

"You'd better not yell. It will only hurt your head. And it might hurt something else," she said mildly, gesturing casually with the stun gun. It was useless after that first shot, of course, but it seemed less barbaric than the police baton. Funny, that.

"Who are you?" he asked, eyeing the gun.

"I'm Roxanne Ritchi," she said, smiling. "And I'm here for your interview."


	6. Chapter 6

The video quality was sub-par—everything looked faintly green—but the image was clear. A sharp-looking young woman and a decidedly battered and bound man in a blue mask and turtleneck sat beside each other against a blank background. The woman looked alert but comfortable: back straight, chin up, at a slight angle to the camera. Her right hand half covered a stun gun, discretely placed in her lap but aimed directly at the man. Megamind squinted. A _discharged_ stun gun. Interesting.

"This is Roxanne Ritchi, of KMCP 8, reporting live from the scene of a recent break-in." Very recent, indeed.

"With me is the repeat burglar who calls himself 'Brainchild,' and who claims that Megamind, currently serving one of his fifteen consecutive life-sentences, is his mentor. Is that correct, sir?" she directed at the young man.

"Err…are we on TV?" he whispered.

"Yes," she said encouragingly. "Please, do answer the question."

"Ah." He coughed. "Yes, Ma'am. I'm Megamind's Brainchild." He bellowed this last bit, and Megamind nearly destroyed the television.

"Of course," Miss Ritchi drawled. "So this is all according to his plan."

"Yes. Mostly."

"Only mostly? He gives you a little range at the end of your leash?" There was a hint of a laugh in her voice.

"Well, yeah!" the boy blustered. "I mean, I'm a genius, too! He lets me decide lots of stuff!"

She smiled. "Like what? The pattern you used to select your targets and the timing of your robberies was quite beautiful, you know." This was a lie. It had to be a lie. It was either a lie, because she knew how childish the charlatan's system had been, or it _wasn't_, because she _didn't_. And if this Miss Ritchi genuinely couldn't distinguish the brat's hash job from his own masterpieces…well. The world wouldn't be worse off if he blasted Metrocity into space. He barely heard her continue, "I'd like to know what part was your own contribution."

The boy sat for a moment, thinking. The effort left a disturbingly slack expression on his face, as though he'd suffered a stroke. Miss Ritchi sat quite still, watching him carefully, barely breathing. She was waiting for something.

"Using _pi_ to choose the zip code," he said, finally. "Yeah." He nodded. "That was me. The rest was his."

"Ah," she breathed. Her smile was positively predatory. "Yes, _that_ was a flash of genius. Definitely the most difficult part to decipher."

"Yep." He beamed. There was chum in the water, and the fool kept paddling on.

"The rest was…well, I hate to say it, but your boss is getting a little…"

"Yeah, it's a bit old, right?" the idiot finished. "I mean, the Fibonacci sequence? Grade school stuff! I think the ol' megabrain's seen better days."

"Exactly!" she laughed. "Megamind's getting so stodgy."

"Yeah!"

"He needs someone young and fresh to take over his legacy!"

"Right!"

"Especially now that he's turning _twenty-four_!"

"Yeah! And I'm the man to…to…wait. What?"

"I wonder how he dyes his beard," she mused, as though indifferent to the idiot's sudden confusion. "Well," she continued brightly, "you'll be able to ask him when they put you in his cell!"

"Wait, _what_?" he shrieked, as the tricky, devious, _glorious_ vixen smiled at him with all her teeth.

"Of course! The gallant police of Metro City would never be so cruel as to separate you from your beloved mentor. Though," she paused, dipping her head conspiratorially, "he might be a little put out after seeing this broadcast."

"Oh, God," he babbled. "It's a mistake. It's all a mistake. I've never met Megamind. I don't know him. I don't have anything to do with him."

"There, there," she soothed, _removing his mask_ and stroking his brow. "I don't think he'll be angry _very_ long."

Pimples everywhere, just as predicted. And he was truly wailing now, tears and snot escaping his face in little projectile bursts. The fantastic Miss Ritchi wisely moved behind him, but this moved her own beautiful face out of the shot. Damn, but she needed a cameraman. A full film crew, really. And great camera lenses, able to focus on every duplicitous smile and dimple.

"No! Please! Don't put me in there with him! I made it all up! I'm Brent Michaels, I live on East Park Street, I'm a senior in high school, I just wanted money for a bike, I'm really sorry, I don't know Megamind, oh God, I'm so sorry, don't put me in with him, I didn't mean it, oh _please_!"

"Really?" she asked quietly, dipping her head next to his.

"Really!"

"You have never had any connection to Megamind?"

"Never! Please believe me!"

She waited a long moment, then smiled sweetly. "I believe you." And then turned to the camera, all business, and said, "It appears Brent Michaels, a.k.a. Brainchild, has no association with the criminal genius Megamind. This explains the amateur simplicity of his system, which basically selected electronics stores from an alphabetical list, using a few commonly-known sequences and the digits of _pi_. Perhaps Megamind will be pleased to have his name cleared from this particular incident," she finished, completely ignoring the increasing agitation of the boy six inches from her shoulder.

"Amateur!" Michaels yelled, rocking back and forth in his chair. He was still crying, his hysteria was quickly turning into rage. "Amateur! You bitch! Take it back! _Take it back_!" He lunged at her, chair and all. In one fluid motion, she stood, letting the useless taser drop to the ground, and rapped a police baton across his head. Then everything was still.

The siren turned back to the camera, serene as a blue sky. "If the police would be so kind, I could use some assistance here at the Best Buy on 327 Elm Street. This is Roxanne Ritchi, reporter with News KMCP 8, signing off." The station switched back to the blonde, who was caught gaping at a screen to her right.

Megamind chuckled. Then he laughed. Then he laughed as evilly as he possibly could, which would have been very intimidating if anyone (Brent Michaels!) had been there to hear him. "Roxanne Ritchi," he murmured lovingly. "I am, indeed, quite pleased."


	7. Chapter 7

Her editor wasn't nearly as congratulatory as he should have been. Blah blah blah, should have told them before going off on her own, shoddy video, not a diva yet, kid, etc. He was particularly angry about the police baton, which had apparently been a memento from one of his first big stories. Big freaking deal. The _story_ was what mattered; the baton was just a (really useful) stick.

His face sure turned purple when he yelled. She wondered if he were keeping tabs on his blood pressure. What would she do if he had a stroke? There was a shock machine on the third floor. Were you supposed to use it, or call 911 first? That could be a useful story, if not terribly exciting.

He sighed and ran a hand over his face. They stood there for a long minute, Roxanne still planning the defibrillator story. She was about to suggest it when he spoke.

"We have an interview with Metro Man scheduled tomorrow. I think it's a terrible idea, but the higher ups want you to do it."

He kept talking, but she didn't hear a word.


	8. Chapter 8

So Miss Ritchi would be interviewing Metro Man. She'd probably be wearing something skimpy, batting her eyelashes, cooing over his big, strong, muscles on top of muscles on top of…whatever composed the interior of an invulnerable superhero. The carbon in his bones had probably turned to diamonds.

Megamind smiled as he felt the familiar jealousy washing over him. Yes, it would be perfect. Here was a woman worthy to stand beside the hero: a strong-willed, unapproachable Helen to launch a thousand battles. Perhaps, by identifying with _her_, the ill-bred savages of Metrocity would rise a little out of their dreary ignorance. She would captivate them, educate them, and sculpt them into citizens who could appreciate the wit and complexity of his evil.

He left the television tuned to KMCP 8 for thirteen hours in anticipation of the interview. Even the test pattern seemed full of possibilities. Who would fall in love first, the demi-god or the tigress? Megamind had never seen the effect the hero's charm had on a fully-sentient female, but Miss Ritchi was so enchanting that he thought the odds might be slightly in her favor. He drummed his fingers and traced meaningless patterns with his dangling feet as he leaned back in his chair, watching the minutes tick by. Then:

"This is Roxanne Ritchi, reporting live from the studios of KMCP 8, with our own hometown hero, Metro Man." She looked very sharp in a starched white blouse and herringbone vest and matching pencil skirt. Not quite the _romantic_ number he'd imagined, but the effect was still enthralling. It was disconcerting, however, to see her adopt the same pose she'd used in her last interview. "First, I'd like to thank you for speaking with me today."

"It's always a pleasure to address the helpless citizens of Metro City, Roxie," he replied with his trademark grin. Nothing out of the ordinary. So he hadn't fallen, yet. Excellent. It _should_ be on film, for posterity.

"I know. Which brings me to my first point: Why _do_ you always call us helpless citizens?" Oh, my. "We have a police force, search and rescue, and fire fighters, just like any other major city in the United States." This really _was_ departing from the script he'd imagined. "In a worst case scenario, we could call on the National Guard." Metro Man looked uncomfortable, and not in a madly-in-love type of way. "In fact, in the past eight years that you've been calling yourself the 'defender of Metro City,' how many times have you solved a major crime spree or stopped a catastrophe that didn't in some way involve Megamind?" This didn't seem like a fair line of attack. Wasn't it enough that he _did_ regularly stop the city's dashing supervillain?

"Well," Metro Man said slowly, "the little guy does keep me pretty busy…"

"He's in jail eleven months per year."

"Because I put him there, yes."

"But what do you do the rest of the time?" she pressed, eyes bright, leaning forward. "Why don't you at least help the city _keep_ him in jail, where he can't do millions of dollars' worth of damage?" No, no, _no_.

Hadn't anyone told her how this was supposed to work? You aren't supposed to dissect the hero on live television! To be a hero of that magnitude, he had to be pure to the point of being almost completely vacant. If he had any desires beyond adulation, he'd probably be instantly corrupted. This was meant to give him the only thing he asked for. She should praise him, flirt with him, and remind him why he kept coming back every time they called for him. Megamind massaged his suddenly aching temples.

Metro Man was brighter than most of the peons he protected, but that wasn't saying much, and he didn't usually need to use what little brainpower he had. He could rely on his super-senses and super-speed; his _mind_ was superfluous. Megamind had learned that particular lesson seven years earlier, with Mission: Clockwork. They had both been a little young for the damsel-in-distress routine, so he'd been more creative with his potential victims. One target he'd thought Metro Man would quickly recognize was the pediatrician both he and Metro Man had been sent to as infants. Dr. Stevens was a bright, kindly old woman, and she'd been the only doctor in the city with the intelligence and patience to handle young aliens.

So Megamind designed a bomb that looked and sounded exactly like a cuckoo clock, complete with a working mechanical bird (blue, of course), and sent it to her retirement home. He then contacted Metro Man, demanding his permanent departure from Metrocity if he wanted to save "the only woman who ever got under your skin." A little grotesque, but he'd thought it was clear enough. When it became obvious it wasn't, he'd switched to "the only person who saw right through you." Then, flatly, "the woman who drew your blood and took your x-rays before your skin became too dense to pierce at a molecular level." It had been at that point that he'd realized that Metro Man wasn't even trying to decipher the riddle—he was just listening for the characteristic "tick, tock" of a bomb. They were all lucky that Minion had installed a remote disabling device. From that point on, Megamind had been careful to leave his bombs…bomb-like. It was better showmanship, at any rate.

Miss Ritchi had some concept of showmanship, but she was going at it all wrong. He watched her play with her prey, relaxing her claws enough to let him run, then pouncing again, driving him from corner to corner with barely-restrained glee. No one would love her for taking the hero down a few pegs, and most would probably banish the whole episode from memory. _If_ she managed to keep her job, she'd be stuck in Personal Interest until she grew too old to be visually appealing.

"And what about Dr. Stevens?" she asked (bluntly). How did she even know about that?

"Who?" the hero mouthed, eyes wide, twitching like a squirrel.

"Don't you remember the only woman who ever got under your skin?" Megamind moaned as he slid out of his chair, giant blue head bouncing on the seat cushions.


	9. Chapter 9

Her editor didn't bother to yell. He just smirked as he assigned her a story on the amount of cotton in cotton swabs.

She'd failed. She knew it. She just didn't understand…well, no, she understood how. Nobody wanted to understand the man inside the white suit, let alone hold him accountable to any of the standards they all embraced. He destroyed public property every time he battled Megamind, but no one charged him for it. For all they knew, he could be abusing his powers to see through clothes, shower stalls, bedroom walls…nobody _wanted_ to know. Nobody but nosy Roxanne Ritchi. But wasn't it a reporter's job to make people aware of the dark things they'd rather ignore?

She finished dressing for the Policemen's Ball and surveyed herself in the mirror. She winced at the shadow cross her breastbone cast in dim lighting. She hadn't been eating well since…actually, she couldn't remember eating well. She couldn't remember what she'd been eating in the past few weeks. Little meals, here and there. Dry toast over the sink. This thin, she _did_ look severe. Who'd called her that? Probably her editor. _Unapproachable_. _Cold_.

Maybe they were right. She'd probably been too hard on Metro Man. He seemed like a nice guy, if a little too complacent for her taste. There were so many things he could do, and yet he seemed happy enough to have an expensive show-down with Megamind every three to six months. But maybe that was for the best. Maybe he really was too simple to eavesdrop on phone calls or spy on naked ladies. Maybe she should try searching for the good in people, rather than hunting for the bad.

Or maybe she should quit stalling, go to the ball, and pretend she had a happy, meaningful life.


	10. Chapter 10

It was fortunate that his escape was ridiculously easy, because he needed every spare minute to tell Minion about his plan to kidnap Roxanne Ritchi. She would surely be attending the ball, so she would surely be wearing the ridiculously romantic dress she should have been wearing for the interview. Conditions would never again be so perfect. Minion was confused, and more than a little annoyed that they were going to waste the weeks he'd spent tailing Metro Man's newest girlfriend (a sultry redheaded nurse with an under-penalized habit of mixing medications). Too bad. Roxanne Ritchi was destined to become Metro City's sweetheart and Metro Man's weakness. All he had to do was scare them all a bit. Wasn't there some study showing that thrilling fear can inspire feelings of love?

So they drove the invisible car to the ball and disguised themselves as policemen. It took a few minutes to pick out Miss Ritchi, who was standing by a fern in a dark corner. She looked lovely, but deeply unhappy. Cheer up, Andromeda. Your Cetus has arrived. "Code: Initiate abduction," he breathed.

"Code: Abduction initiating," Minion replied. "Miss Ritchi," he called, "I think I have an idea for a story about kitten rescues."

"Doesn't the fire department usually handle that?" she said, but she allowed him to lead her toward the disguised Megamind. As they passed behind a pillar, Minion dehydrated her and pocketed the cube. "Code: Abduction complete."

"Excellent," Megamind cackled, steepling his fingers. "Code: To the abandoned warehouse."


	11. Chapter 11

She woke up wet but unrestrained. She lashed out blindly, but her fists and knees only connected with metal. The _thing_ grabbed her arms while someone very close told her to hold still, please. Somehow, the harmless, nebbish voice only frightened her more, particularly when she realized that it was coming from the giant metal suit. Its head was a fish floating in a bowl. One of her arms twisted horribly, and she shrieked in pain. As it (he?) did something to set her shoulder right, apologizing as he _shoved_ it back in place, she felt the fight go out of her. She had no weapons, and she had no idea how to hurt her attacker. She didn't even know where she was. She tried to scream, but her throat was too tight, so the sound came out terribly, terribly quiet. The fish-man bound her hands and feet, then lifted her easily and set her in a chair.

"So this is Roxanne Ritchi, fearless reporter from KMCP 8." The voice was deep, rich, and familiar. Megamind. She'd been kidnapped by Megamind. But he only kidnapped Metro Man's girlfriends, now…as far as anyone _alive_ knew. Oh, God. Maybe he did, but he killed them all. She was going to die. He was going to kill her, and she was going to die, and that was that. No more Q-Tip stories, at least! She thought she might laugh, but she only shuddered.

He was walking toward her slowly, talking, laughing, and she dully recognized that he was telling her something. She kept her head down, but her eyes were open, so she saw his soft black boots step into view. They folded out at the top, like a pirate's. His ankles were very thin. So were his calves. Her vision blurred, then cleared as two tears fell on her silk dress. At least it was already ruined.

He was standing very close, now. And it was quiet. He'd stopped talking. She closed her eyes.

She opened them again, on reflex, when he placed a hand on her throat and turned her face up to his. His hand was very warm, but dry, as though he had a fever. He slid two fingers over her pulse point, and it seemed that her skin jumped to meet his with every heartbeat. His beard was impossibly tidy, his sharp jawline completely smooth. She wondered, insanely (wasn't she about to die?), whether he grew hair anywhere but that thin strip. Well, he did have eyebrows, she amended after glancing up. His eyes were pure green. Did any earthlings naturally have eyes _that_ green?

His expression shifted from…whatever it had been, before…to something bizarrely sweet. Lost. Worried. He suddenly dropped her chin and ran his fingers through her hair, stroking her like a cat. This pushed her head down, so rather than stare at his chest, she glanced around the room. It was dark, outside the small circle of light surrounding them, but it looked quite plain, filled with boxes but no furniture. There was a single television set in front of her, and squinting, she could distinguish several video cameras. The fish-man was working on something, but he was too far at the edge of her vision to make out what he was doing. She became conscious of the air in her lungs, the pain in her knees, and the soothing warmth of his fingers against her scalp. It was weird, _very_ weird, but she was alive, and it almost seemed like she might go on living for a while longer.


	12. Chapter 12

He'd never touched anything alive, before. Not for an extended period. Minion mostly stayed inside his bowl, and the prisoners who had raised him had never directly held him. So even when he was certain Miss Ritchi had calmed down, he prolonged the moment just a little.

She had been truly terrified. She hadn't screamed, so he'd first assumed she was braver (or more foolish) than he'd credited, but then she hadn't said a word in response to his banter. And when he forced her to look at him, removing the glove because he _could_ and placing his hand on human skin that first, glorious time, he saw the paralyzing fright in her eyes even before he recognized that her pulse was dangerously fast. She seemed to be staring at his mouth, though he couldn't be sure she was processing what her eyes saw.

Something savage told him _take it_, _take her_, _she's right there_, but he squashed it. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to scream and tremble with fear, but…but she wasn't supposed to be this afraid of him. He'd pushed it too far, somehow, just as he'd done all those times at school. In a sudden panic, he started stroking her like a brainbot.

And _for once_, it was the right thing to do. Her shoulders relaxed, and her head moved slightly as she took in her surroundings. Her hair was wet, but soft and fine, and she nearly gave off the same electric sparks as the brainbots. He wondered what it felt like dry and fluffy. But they had work to do. It seemed Minion had finished positioning the cameras. Excellent. He relinquished her hair, took a few steps away from her, and cleared his throat.

"I observed your last two interviews quite carefully, Miss Ritchi, quite carefully, indeed." He turned and walked across her line of vision without looking at her. "You have an inquisitive mind, a rare…" He glanced at her, and found she was listening, still wary, but attentive. He chanced a wolfish grin. "A rare _hunger_ for the truth, I believe."

She didn't respond, but she squared her shoulders and took a steadying breath. It was a pity the rehydration process had ruined her dress, but the wet silk did cling—

"I think your last interview left you unsatisfied," he continued, a little too quickly. _Be calm; be powerful_. "Reflection is not Metro Man's forte." He pulled up a chair and slouched into it regally. "Neither is memory, as you should have realized when you found out about dear Dr. Stewart." He waggled his eyebrows meaningfully. Still silent, she twisted slightly, tilting her head, unconsciously (or not) mirroring his posture.

"As you pointed out, Metro Man means little to this village without me; he is the reaction to my action, the light cutting through my darkness. Yet he has been interviewed countless times and I…"

"…haven't, yet," she finished, quietly. "Is that what this is about? You want an interview?"

"Is it too much to ask for?" He pouted, leaning on an elbow.

"Do you really need one?" she asked, smiling slightly. "Don't you speak for yourself? You're on air much more than I am, you know." Her voice was shaky, but there was already some bite in there.

"Oh, but a good reporter knows how to draw the unexpected out of her subjects. Don't you want to try matching wits with me, Miss Ritchi? I think it would be _fun_." He was tempted to add, "more fun than dying," but thought better of it.

She stared at the ceiling. "When?"

"Now."

"I'm afraid I'm all tied up," she said airily. "Maybe later."

A laugh escaped him, so he twisted it into an Evil Laugh. He stalked over (he really needed a chair with wheels) and leaned until their faces nearly met. Her eyes were a lovely shade of blue. "_Now_," he murmured, then straightened, barking, "Minion! Cameras!"

"Yes, sir!"

He moved the chair next to hers and sat. He smoothed his eyebrows and straightened her bangs, ignoring her scowl. "Presentation, newsie. Minion, are we ready?"

"Yes, sir, rolling in three, two," and he mouthed _one, go!_

"This is Roxanne Ritchie of KMCP 8, reporting from an unidentified location," she told the lead camera in a perfectly controlled, graceful voice. "I'm here with Megamind, supervillain and evil genius, who has _agreed_ to speak" (clever turn, vixen!) "about his past, his rivalry with Metro Man, and some of his latest plans." Quite a list she'd developed off the cuff.

"And I shall, if you keep me entertained, Miss Ritchi."

"Please," she nearly interrupted, "call me Roxanne."

"As you wish, then, Roxanne." He felt heat rising to his face. Her name was throaty and luscious, and she _knew_ it, or at least suspected something. Damn it.

"Thank you." She smiled so sweetly. "Now, Megamind, you've said you have an excellent memory." He didn't believe he'd ever _said_ that, but it was true, so he let it pass. "What is the earliest thing you remember?"

She was a tricky little fiend, and if he weren't careful, he would probably embarrass himself before this interview ended. No matter. Nothing was being broadcast, yet. He and Minion would be able to edit out any mistakes when they spliced the footage from the twelve cameras spread around the room. He could cut the bit about calling her "Roxanne," for example. Good. Better stick with "Miss Ritchi."

So he answered truthfully and freely. He told her of his home world, and of the black hole. He told her what he remembered of the journey he and Metro Man had taken all those years ago. He told her about jail, and about school, though he glossed over that rather quickly.

For her part, she listened carefully and pushed him to flesh out details, but there was something oddly gentle about it. There were no predatory grins this time, though there were a couple of moments he thought she might be holding back a laugh. It was probably just the threat of bodily harm, but she seemed much warmer than she'd been in the past. She raised her eyebrows the first time he called her "Miss Ritchi," but didn't comment. She was letting him enjoy this.

Her demeanor shifted when they got to his current plans, of course. She was aware that she had some part in them, and was probably desperate to know what that entailed and how it would end. But Roxanne played her hand elegantly (hard to do with your hands tied), alternatively baiting and accommodating, even a little piqued, but never dropping that warm curve at the corner of her mouth.

He finally leaned into her, in a moment he would _definitely_ cut from the aired version, and murmured lightly, "Confess, temptress, to being the slightest bit frightened that I will do whatever I wish to you, and that no one will stop me." She colored, then laughed it off as he moved away.

"We both know that you won't get your way in the end. Metro Man will always be there to stop you."

It was precisely what he'd wanted her to say, but it hurt like a physical blow. He nodded, recovering, then barked out an Evil Laugh. Facing the camera directly, he said:

"Is that true, old friend? Will Metro Man agree to leave Metrocity forever in exchange for Roxanne Ritchi's freedom? Or will the lovely reporter suffer a fate worse than death? Will you leave Persephone to shine only for the dark denizens of Hell? Let's put thirty minutes on the clock and see, shall we? Don't keep Miss Ritchi waiting," he finished with a slight bow.

"And…cut!" Minion smiled. "That was great, you two! Really exciting. They're gonna love it!"

"Of course, Minion. The dish won't fail with such good ingredients." He switched on the television and tuned it to her station. "You did very well," he told Roxanne as he and Minion departed for the editing room.


	13. Chapter 13

She blinked, and they were gone. Weirdest interview ever. She never would have imagined the catch-flies-with-honey routine would work so well, but it had seemed like her only reasonable option. And not only had she lived, she'd hit paydirt. Who would have thought Megamind could be so introspective, or so _vulnerable_? She only hoped enough people had suffered through the hours-long broadcast to see those fleeting moments, as when he'd said her name that one time.

Her station was airing an infomercial. Didn't they care about her at all? A wave of nausea passed over her. What time was it? She'd been at the ball at least an hour before she'd been kidnapped (couldn't quite recall how that had happened), but she had no idea how long she'd been unconscious or how long their interview had lasted. Had anyone even been watching? Metro Man was supposed to arrive in half an hour. What would they do if he didn't?

She was fairly certain Megamind wouldn't kill her—he'd never threatened to, at least—but she wasn't sure what to think of the "fate worse than death" she'd been promised. He recited those lines like an actor on stage, but…he _was_ attracted to her. He'd made that clear. She should have been repulsed, even frightened, but he'd been so courtly that she'd _flirted back_, nearly from the beginning! It was all very unsettling. And tiring.

She wouldn't sleep. She would wait. The infomercials were boring, but the chair was uncomfortable, especially since her hands and feet were bound. She could surely stay awake for half an hour.

She was dimly aware of the fish-man's voice, then (_Minion_) lifted her in his large metal-and-fluff arms. He settled her in a cot, rebound her hands loosely in front of her, tucked a blanket around her, and turned off the light.

Sometime later, she woke to the smell of coffee and pancakes. She sat up stiffly, and found she could brush the hair out of her eyes. Her bindings left her some eight inches between her hands. Not great, but not bad.

"I see you're awake, Miss Ritchi!" Minion called. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"Coffee," she muttered as politely as she could, "would be great." She found her foot bindings had also been loosened to let her take small steps. She poured herself a cup and inhaled the steam. "Thank you, Minion."

"You're quite welcome," he beamed. "What about pancakes?"

"Why not," she shrugged. "Not laced with arsenic, I hope?"

"Oh, no!" he said, aghast.

"I didn't think so." They were delicious, and she told him so. He beamed again. He really was a simple fish. Man. Alien fish man person. She hated mornings, though pancakes and coffee made them slightly less…_ugh_.

"Would you like to shower before your rescue?"

She blinked at Minion. "But…didn't Metro Man miss the deadline? By several hours?"

"Oh, no," he reassured her, "we haven't aired the interview, yet. The boss is still cutting the tapes together. He wants everything perfect, you know. He's been up all night working on it!"

That…seemed… Someone had mentioned a shower. That seemed like a good idea. Other things would sort themselves out.

"It's through that door, to the left," he directed as he undid her bindings. Several brainbots swarmed around her, little ray guns aimed at her head. "Don't mind them," he told her. "Just, you know, keep to a normal shower routine. There isn't a lot of leeway in their programming." She got the message.

The shower was nice. Even nicer was discovering her own makeup, perfume, and toothbrush at the sink, and her own silk dress, restored to its former glory, hanging from the door. She followed the brainbots back to the kitchen, where Minion was washing dishes.

"Oh, that," he giggled nervously. "It isn't actually _your_ dress. I tried to make a replica. I hope it's alright."

"It's perfect, Minion. Better than the original, I think."

"Thank you! I took the liberty of nipping the darts in half an inch." His fins waved, and she got the impression he was preening. She smiled.

"I love it. Now, could you please bind me up again? The brainbots make me a little nervous." On cue, one leveled a ray gun two inches from her temple.

"Absolutely. Shoo! Go get the wrench!" he cried, and they flew away. He left the bindings loose again. "We'd better hurry," he muttered. "It's almost nine o'clock."

He led her back to the first room, the hostage room, and sat her in the chair (with a pillow, this time). He tightened her bindings and checked that the television was still set to KMCP 8. Apparently satisfied, he patted her on the head and left.

She waited until she couldn't hear his lumbering footsteps, then hopped up to explore. It was difficult, but with patience, she could move around the room. But there wasn't much to find: cameras, the television, and dozens of old sealed boxes. She realized it was a warehouse or storage unit of some kind, abandoned for several years if she correctly judged the layers of dust. As she contemplated trying the door, she heard the familiar voice of her station's morning news anchor.

"We're interrupting our normal programming to bring you _another_ special interview from Roxanne Ritchi, our investigative reporter." What? How long had she had that title? She liked it. She hopped back to the chair.

"Last time, she exposed the fraud perpetrated by Megamind's supposed protégé, Brainchild." Apparently, the Metro Man interview had been expunged from her record. She could live with that. "Now, she's interviewed the criminal mastermind himself, at great personal risk. I am proud to present this special report."

Roxanne took a deep breath.

There they were. They looked…fantastic. Hunter and prey in equipoise. The lighting and camera angles were perfect, and the cuts were seamless. He'd dropped the "Roxanne" bit, which annoyed her, but she suspected he'd also avoided moments when she'd looked less composed. One shot tracked from her tightly bound hands, languidly up her back, to her calm, smiling face. He'd sat there for hours, splicing film to make her look like a queen. Why?

The interview moved much faster than she remembered. He cut out much of the material about his childhood, though he left in his early fights with Metro Man. She wondered if he'd left in his last words to her. _Confess, temptress…_ She wondered if she'd blushed. She wondered how flustered she'd looked. She'd _felt_ flustered.

But just when she thought the moment had come, it jumped to her reply. "We both know that you won't get your way…" And then he challenged Metro Man, and then it was over. She sat there, leaning against the pillow, trying to make sense of her feelings.

Before any epiphany arrived—before thirty seconds had passed—Megamind and Minion burst into the room. "Places!" Megamind practically screamed, rubbing his hands as Minion tossed some boxes out of the way and lined up the brainbots. Megamind darted over to Roxanne, scanned the ceiling for God-knows-what, and turned her chair ninety degrees. He gave her coiffed hair a lingering glance, then moved his chair to a dark corner behind her. "Action!" he called, and the television switched to a live feed from the room.

He barely had time to sit before the ceiling burst open. Blinded by the morning light, Roxanne could only hear her savior. "Don't worry, Roxie. I'm here."


	14. Chapter 14

Ah, to be Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes. Ray beams bounced off of him. He swatted Minion aside like a house fly (giving Minion time to escape, as he must, for who else would keep his dastardly plans in motion during his forced holidays?), and melted two dozen brainbots with a single pass. That always irked Megamind. Just because they were made of circuits and wires didn't mean they didn't have basic emotions and personalities. He was always careful to make back-up copies of their programs before challenging Metro Man, but _still_. He set his favorite gun to "dehydrate."

"Well done, as always," he called from his corner, clapping slowly. "And so punctual." He strolled into the light, gun first.

"Didn't want to give you too much time alone with Roxie," the hero smirked. "She wears such nice perfume. Makes her easy to sniff out." Roxanne did not look entirely pleased, but she quickly covered with an adoring smile. Interesting.

"Yes, well, while I hate to deny your olfactory glands any pleasure," he drawled, "I've come to enjoy her company. She'd make a nice research assistant, I think. I'm keeping her," he finished, aiming the gun at her head. "Don't try to stop me."

"You want to keep her, so you're threatening to kill her? That doesn't even make sense!"

"She is…rare," he replied, staring at her delicate, complicated expression. "Haven't you ever wanted to monopolize anything, Metro Man? Even if it means destroying it?"

"Never," the hero boomed. "You _protect_ the things you love. But that's a feeling you'll never understand, villain!"

He pulled the trigger, and as expected, Metro Man jumped forward and deflected the beam. Why didn't the damn thing ever work on _him_? Couldn't _anything_ penetrate his skin? And then there was pain, and handcuffs, and the sight of Roxanne being gracefully lifted into the sky, dress aflutter.

They aired her post-rescue interview several times while he was in jail. Her sweet, soft expression as she apologized for her last interview, followed by his unusually heartfelt assurance that "nobody's perfect, as you've pointed out," captivated Metrocity. A new wound opened in Megamind's heart, and he nursed it lovingly as he planned their next thrilling kidnapping.


	15. Chapter 15

"This is Roxanne Ritchi, unharmed and very grateful," she signed off. People immediately pushed toward them, but Metro Man picked her up as easily as a doll and jumped into the sky.

"Need a lift?" he asked, a little too late. His smile was pleasantly vacant. Why not?

"Thanks," she replied. "Again," she added, hoping she sounded decently appreciative, not smarmy, not, um, too inviting.

They floated in silence for a minute, rising higher over the city. She wasn't sure she liked being so high up she couldn't see her shadow. She definitely didn't like being held so loosely. But she resisted the urge to cling to him, telling her arms to stay limp as she focused on the city. It looked beautiful and clean from this distance.

"So," he said slowly, "where to?" Like a cab driver, or a subway, haha, get it, Metro Man? She gave him her street address, and he swooped down. She _did_ cling, then, nails-first. He didn't seem to notice.

"Which floor?"

"Ground."

He frowned. "But then you won't have a balcony."

"Right," she nodded.

"Then where am I supposed to put you?"

"On the sidewalk?"

"Oh, no," he replied, and she thought of Minion. "A hero can't just leave a lady on the sidewalk, especially in _that_ part of town. And it'll be dark soon!"

It must be nice to have rich parents who could subsidize your costumes _and_ your apartment. She bit back the comment and tried to think like a strictly by-the-book superhero. "What about the roof of the apartment building?" she suggested. This was deemed satisfactory.

He set her on her feet, and she thanked him quietly. He hovered, face full of uncertainty. Without his normal cocksure grin, he could be so childlike. She thought of Peter Pan, and then of Megamind. She took a deep breath, smiled, and said, "I really am sorry about that first interview. I shouldn't have—"

"No, no," he interrupted, hands up, fingers wide. "I," he stammered, running a hand through his hair, "I'm not used to…to someone not liking me. But I've been thinking about it," he said quickly, "and you're right. I mean, I should be doing more. Like, helping the fire department more and stuff. And talking to kids about traffic safety. Would that help? Would you…do you think you could like me, then?"

He was an airhead. A vain, self-absorbed, adorably sincere airhead. With super powers. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Probably," she said. "Yes," she said, more firmly. She looked up and added, "But you'd have to be careful not to do more damage than you prevent."

"Sure, yeah, I'll be super careful," he grinned. "And maybe…could you help me with that? You know what's going on in this city better than anyone, I bet. You could be my sidekick!"

"No," she answered flatly. "No sidekicking." But when his face fell, she sighed and agreed to give him tips and advice as things came up. The apartment roof would be a good meeting place. He flew a quick celebratory loop around the building before breaking the lock on the door to the stairs. "Just whistle, and I'll stop by, Roxie," he crowed as he flipped midair. He stopped. "Do you know 'Blue Suede Shoes?'" He whistled tunelessly, twisting his shoulders and shaking his hips.

"Yes," she laughed, "okay, go, quickly, before I change my mind." He darted away.

She stayed on the roof for a long time, resting her elbows on the enclosing wall. She watched the sun dip below the horizon, sending streaks of orange and pink across gleaming towers. Venus appeared, then other stars, though few could be seen against the light of the city.

She thought about many things that night. She thought about stars and lost alien worlds. She thought about two tiny babies speeding toward Earth, and all the possibilities that had created. She thought about boys playing cops and robbers, and wondered how long it took to outgrow that game if there wasn't anything better to do. She thought about what Megamind could do if he were given the chance to be useful. Second chances—real, genuine do-overs—were rare. She'd been given a great one. She wondered if he knew that. Could she return the favor, somehow? Probably not. It isn't the chances we're given, but what we _do_ with them that matters, she reminded herself. She wouldn't waste hers.

The wind picked up, briefly drowning out the sounds of traffic, sirens, and car alarms below. The city spread around her, full of stories, ugly and strange and brassy and beautiful.

She closed her eyes and listened.

END


End file.
